I need to stop throwing my heart at people that can’t catch. There’s only so many times it can be patched up, and I’m afraid it’s getting weaker every day.
The stitching’s come undone, and I don’t know how to stop it from leaking love. I keep throwing it around, hoping it’ll find somewhere to stick, but its always bouncing off the walls. And I’m slumped in the corner, under a blanket of regret, hoping the next one through the door is holding a catcher’s mitt.
I’m watching my loneliness run circles around me, home-run after home-run, and I’m just praying for the end of our stupid game.
I need to go home and lick my wounds. I need to spend some time reading up on the rules; I don’t really understand, which is why the metaphor’s a bit confused…..correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought someone said there’d be food?
giraffevader - My heart is not a baseball, but I sure wish you were a safe pair of hands